


Into Your Arms

by MarzgaPerez



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1000 word drabble, Angst and Feels, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, MY HEART IS BURSTING, Soulmates, Survivors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 04:26:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18563884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: S08E02. Theon returns to Winterfell after many trials and tribulations to lay eyes upon the one person who understands him the most. I was so happy to see Theonsa get some screen time after what has been a very long wait.#threeyearsinthemaking





	Into Your Arms

There was a warmth radiating through his body. It was constant and steady, like a once raging fire burned down to glowing embers, retaining enough heat to re-ignite with the smallest spark. For Theon Greyjoy, Sansa was that spark.

Winterfell felt like home again—welcoming even—with the glow from the lit torches, the smile in Sansa’s eyes, and the warm bowl of stew he held in his hands.

Theon had feared a different kind of reception when he returned.

_The North remembers._

The last time he had traversed these grounds, he was a mere shadow of a man. Some soulless creature with a name that was not his own.

His thoughts turned to a young hostage who’d been brought to Winterfell and a gaggle of friendly Northern children, dressed in fur-covered cloaks. They’d taken him in as one of their own. The eldest, Robb, became his brother, and the auburn-haired little sister, Sansa, had managed to tug at Theon’s heart strings more than once.

As a girl of about ten, she’d jumped into his arms gratefully, for a simple deed. Theon helped her retrieve a doll that some careless brutes—probably local boys—had tossed into a tree. She’d made the doll herself out of yarn and twigs and shiny buttons. It was meant to resemble a princess. The poor tattered thing was hanging from some branches, just a few feet above her reach. He’d come upon her weeping and retrieved the doll for her, much to her delight. He was, if only briefly, a hero in her eyes.

It would be years and lifetimes later when she would return to his arms. They were together in the snow-covered forest, miles away from Winterfell, both hanging on by a thread, having survived some of the harshest brutality of their lives under Ramsay Bolton and then a death-defying jump from the castle ramparts to find freedom.

Theon had wanted to see Sansa to safety, but he knew she would be cared for by Lady Brienne, and he had to get back to the Iron Islands to find Yara, his blood born sister.

It was a miracle he survived that journey back to his once-home Pyke. Twice, he had to escape the clutches of his evil uncle Euron, abandoning Yara to an unknown fate as the coward within him inhabited his body all over again.

At Dragonstone, Jon Snow had reminded Theon that all was not lost. The good in him—both Greyjoy and Stark—could exist together. He’d rise up stronger.

After rescuing Yara, there was only one other person still alive in Westeros that Theon wanted to see. To serve. He just needed to stave off his impending death a little longer, because surely he had already outlived his time.

Thank the gods he hadn’t been killed immediately upon arrival to Winterfell. He could have been recognized by enough of the Northerners to be strung up on a stake and burned beyond recognition for his betrayal of the Starks during his short and pathetic reign as the Prince of Winterfell.

But all living and breathing men were needed to face the undead, and even as a turn-cloak, Theon met those requirements. The guards had brought Theon inside and called Queen Daenerys and the Lady of Winterfell to receive him.

His heart leapt upon hearing that Sansa had earned her rightful title, though she deserved so much more. When his eyes rested on both of the women, he was comforted to know that the Seven Kingdoms were now in their capable hands. But his gaze remained only upon Sansa, regal and poised as she was, a beautiful strong woman, who had raised herself from the lowest depths of despair. With just a few words, he relinquished to her whatever of his heart was left to give. The pain of past lives melted away as their bodies collided in a familiar embrace.

Lady Sansa wouldn’t allow him to be mistreated or rejected. She’d accepted him back into her home and into her arms. He was ready to serve in whatever capacity the Starks needed him. Protecting Bran for however long he could, seemed like the right thing to do, even if that meant it would be his last stand among the living.

And on this last night, he was grateful that Sansa herself was willing to accompany him to the courtyard to retrieve his food provisions as a volunteer soldier. She’d offered him a place in the dining hall and something more substantial to eat, but he’d declined, not feeling worthy of any special treatment.

He thought they might say their good-byes then and there. Instead, Sansa stood next to him in line and waited patiently until it was his turn, accepting the bowl of stew and crust of bread on his behalf, and leading them to a quiet table.

She watched him intently as he sipped on the warm liquid, perhaps relieved to see the color back in his face and the life returned to his eyes. They didn’t need to exchange words between them to realize that their souls were made stronger in one another’s presence.

Sansa must have known how much Theon was rooting for her, to go as far and as high as she wanted, that he would always be her biggest supporter for many reasons.

And he, in turn, saw the gratitude in her warm smile and a bit of hope that he might survive the long, dark night. Yet he could also read in her expression the fear that she was sending him off to his death.

 _You know I have to do this,_ he conveyed to her, determination flooding his eyes. _I owe it to Bran. And Robb. And your father._

 _I know you do,_ she responded, wordlessly, placing a soft hand on top of his. _But please come back to me if you can._

 _One way or another, I will,_ he promised, with a nod of his head. _In fact, I already have._


End file.
